Nothing Seemed To Turn Out Right
by DizzyAlice
Summary: Every time I cross the train tracks, time stops. It's like I can escape the world, and all that matters anymore is him, is me. He always knows I'm coming somehow and he meets me at the curb. "Hey," he says, and I smile for the first time in forever. --K2
1. There's No One Who Imagines Like You

**_Nothing Seemed To Turn Out Right  
_**_A South Park Fanfiction by DizzyAlice_

_Chapter One: There's No One Who Imagines Like You_

A/N: Please note that I am still working on _Play Crack the Sky_ as my main fic right now. I just got this idea and I felt the need to roll with it so I did, and I finished a chapter so I figured what the hell, I'll post it.  
Story will be K-squared, story will be narrated by Kyle.  
Um, enjoy, I guess. And please review :3

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_There's a cemetery deep below the sea, there the space is reserved for fools like me. Tried to kill myself at least a dozen times, but nothing seemed to turn out right. There's no one who imagines like you, so convinced there's somewhere that we go to. Not a first-class trip to the abyss. Tell me, do you still feel this? I will face the one who made my disgusting heart from a lump of clay. Should he ask what got me through, if he asks me it was you.  
_--_Cemetery_ by Say Anything

* * *

It's 2:57 in the morning. It's Tuesday, and it's summer.

Let me ask you something.

If you were out driving at 2:57 on a Tuesday morning in the summer, and you came to a bridge, and you saw a kid standing on the wrong side of the railing, staring at the black water like he wanted nothing more than for it to rise up and swallow him whole, would you stop? Would you get out of your car and try to help him? Would you ask him what was wrong?

Unless you're completely heartless you probably just answered yes to all those questions. But let's face it. If you were actually there, you wouldn't stop. You'd keep driving like you didn't see a goddamn thing.

Well, let me tell you something. That's okay. The kid doesn't want you to stop.

I don't want your fucking sympathy.

I just want to die in peace with no one trying to talk me out of it. I made this choice, I know what I'm doing, so leave me the hell alone.

Maybe I'm just bitter because 23 minutes of gathering the courage to let go, let myself fall through the emptiness into the unknown, and not a single car that's gone by has so much as slowed.

Oh well. Just further proves my point.

No one fucking cares about me.

I don't care that no one cares about me, not like most people would. In fact, it only makes things easier for me. Eliminates almost all the guilt I would feel about doing this otherwise. I'm not gonna make anyone sad for more than a few days by leaving.

As if on cue, my phone rings. I know immediately who it is. He has some weird psychic thing and always manages to call me when I need him most, even if it's at 2:58 on a Tuesday morning in the summer.

I cling to the bridge support, the only thing holding me up here in the realm of the living instead of down there in the dark abyss, with one arm. I use the other to fish in my pocket until I find my phone, flip it open, and hold it to my ear.

I don't say anything.

"Kyle?" he asks quietly. "I didn't expect you to answer. What are you still doing up?"

"I could ask you the same question," I mumble in an empty voice.

"I couldn't sleep."

I pause. I say, "Me either."

"Hey." I wait. "Are you okay?"

Yes, I'm great, in fact, absolutely fucking wonderful. Never been better.

But I don't say this. Not even sarcastically, like I'm thinking it.

Instead I say, "Yeah. I'm okay."

"Okay."

It's quiet, and over the howling wind in my ears, I listen to him breathing. I picture him lying on his mattress on the floor, the comforter half falling off to reveal his thin, bare torso.

"Ken?" I ask, the words leaping to my mouth before my brain gives them permission to.

"Yeah?"

I hesitate, and when I do speak again, my voice is small. "If I died, would you miss me?"

He sighs, and for a minute I swear I can feel his breath blowing hot and sweet with liquor and nicotine into my ear. "Of course I'd fucking miss you, Ky, don't be a moron."

"You're the only one."

"That's not true."

"Oh yeah? Name one other person that would care more than 'Oh, what a pity' if I died right now."

He's quiet. He's thinking. "Your family," he says at last.

"They don't count. They're my family, they're required to care."

"Kyle, plenty of people would care."

"Yeah? Then why can't you think of any?"

He doesn't answer, and I know I've won. Another deeper silence forms, until he finally breaks it with, "I care. Isn't that enough?"

"No," I admit quietly. "Not anymore."

I'm not sure if he heard me. But I'm not going to say it again.

"Would you miss me? Y'know, if I died?" he asks in return. His tone is joking, but I know he wants a real answer.

"I always miss you," I promise. "I miss you even when you're here. I miss you right now."

Something in me clicks. Snaps shut. A door labeled "closure." And I know it's over. It's time for me to go.

I tell him that. Well, not entirely. I say, "I gotta go."

"Okay. Kyle?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't do anything stupid."

"Okay."

"'Night, kid."

"Bye, Kenny."

He hangs up, and the phone in my ear goes into a dead silence.

My arm loosens on the support, and my weight and balance and gravity is pulling me forward, and finally I let go.

I'm falling like flying, and time stops.

And still I fall.

The air rushes around me and I feel suspended, stuck, supported by the nothing that is all around me. I catch a glimpse of my watch. It's 3:07 on a Tuesday morning in the summer, and death is rushing up to meet me, caress me with his icy-cold embrace. I have no regrets.

My body hits the water with a noise like a gunshot.

My eyes fly open.

The numbers on the clock on my bedside table change from 3:07 to 3:08.

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A/N: Because I know at least one person's gonna ask, the last two lines are my non-cliche way of saying "And then I woke up." -_-  
Please review ^_^


	2. Heart is a Machine

**_Nothing Seemed To Turn Out Right  
_**_A South Park Fanfiction by DizzyAlice_

_Chapter Two: Heart is a Machine_

A/N: Author's notes on this fic are going to be significantly shorter because I really don't want to accidently give out a spoiler ._.  
Enjoy and please review :3

* * *

_Her heart is a machine. Art's meant to be seen. Not felt. Not heard. It's just paint. They're just words. Fingers are for feeling. Fists are for beating. Scabs are for healing, and blood is for bleeding.  
_--_Scratched Out_ by The Matches

* * *

My room is quiet. Dark.

I'm not sure what it was that sent me hurtling back into consciousness. I can only assume it was a nightmare. I can never remember my dreams, but I figure they're part of the reasons for my countless sleepless nights.

I glance at the clock on my nightstand and do a quick calculation. One hour and forty-four minutes. I was asleep for exactly one hour and forty-four minutes.

I won't be going back to sleep tonight.

Fucking insomnia.

I pick my phone up off the floor next to my bed and automatically dial Kenny's number. He's talked me through many a late night in the past, even managing to sooth my racing thoughts to sleep on rare occasions. He never seems to mind my waking him up.

But, I realize just as I'm about to hit the call button, it's later than I normally call. And it's a school night for him.

And for me.

Because tomorrow's the first day of school.

And I have to go back.

Fuck.

I don't understand why they're making me go back. I'm clearly not ready. I could just keep studying at home. I did fine on all my exams, I know I could handle it. I would just have to finish out my year and then graduate and I wouldn't have to fucking _worry_ about any of this anymore.

I try to control my fears like I was taught, but I can't stop the way my heart starts racing and my throat closes up at the thought of having to be with all the people I used to be friends with for six hours a day, five days a week. As my head starts spinning and my vision goes black, I punch the call button on the phone still in my hand, dialing Kenny's number.

I'm afraid he won't answer, which only adds to my panic. It just keeps ringing and ringing and ringing until finally a sleepy voice says, "'lo?"

"Kenny," I gasp, but I can't say anything else because I can hardly breathe.

"Kyle, shh, it's okay," he immediately soothes. He's used to this by now. "It's gonna be okay. I'm here, you're okay, shh…"

I squeeze my eyes shut. I clutch the sheets in my fists. I bite my lip until it bleeds. Eventually, out of forcing my mind to focus on nothing but Kenny's voice in my ear, my breathing goes back to normal and the world stops spinning.

"Ky, what's wrong?" he asks gently once he's sure I'm done.

"It's just – school."

"Don't worry about school. I'll be there, I'll take care of you."

"But – but what if we don't have any classes together?"

"Then we'll see each other in between. It's not like you have to do much in class other than sit there and take notes. You probably don't even have to talk to anyone."

"What if I have class with Stan?" I whisper.

"Then… shit, I don't know. It probably wouldn't be too hard to get your classes switched."

"I don't think I can do this, Ken."

"Sure you can, kid. You're way stronger than you give yourself credit for. 'Sides, you're doing so much better now. Just relax, don't be so high-strung. You'll be fine."

"And if I'm not?"

"Then I give you full permission to say 'I told you so.'"

My mouth twitches somewhere into the vague area that is a smile.

I do my best to ignore the looks and whispers so clearly focused on me all day. There are less than I originally expected.

Kenny and I haven't had any classes together yet, but he meets me at my locker before fourth period. He's wearing his usual cocky grin as he leans against the locker next to mine.

"So?" he asks. "How's it going?"

"Not bad," I admit.

"See? I told you you could do it."

I smile a bit, rolling my eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I guess you were right. What do you want, a parade or something?"

"Hm, that would be nice," he says as I slam my locker shut and we start to walk. "At the very least, a statue should be made in my honor…"

I snort and roll my eyes at him again, and he just gives me this big cheesy grin.

"Hey, have you seen Stan yet?" he asks suddenly.

My somewhat good mood immediately goes sour, and my stomach drops. "Not yet. I figure it's only a matter of time, though."

He just nods. He can't say anything encouraging, like that maybe Stan doesn't hate me anymore – we both know he still does – or that maybe I'll never run into him – come on, that's just inevitable. He can only give me those silent promises with his icy-blue looks that when it happens, he'll be there.

No matter what, Kenny will always be there for me.

"What do you have next?" he asks.

"Um…" I run through my already-memorized schedule in my head. "History."

"Damn. I've got Lit. But the History hall's on my way. I'll walk you there."

Talking with Kenny just seems so comfortable, so familiar, that I almost forget everything that's bothering me.

Kenny's always been so confident of himself. He's proud of who he is, and he doesn't give a rat's ass what anyone else thinks of him. He doesn't care that his family doesn't have a lot of money, or that so many people talk shit about him behind his back for being bi or sometimes getting drunk at parties and making out with whoever's willing.

I often think Kenny's lack of concern for what people think of him is the only reason he's stayed friends with me when everyone else shunned me as a freak, deeming it social suicide to even acknowledge my existence in a friendly manner.

Okay, maybe I'm being a little melodramatic here. It's not like I even had many friends to begin with. I guess the Stan thing just made me paranoid or something. I always thought of everyone, he'd be most likely to be there for me. And after what happened, when not even he would talk to me, pretty much no one else did either.

But I don't want to think about that right now. Kenny stuck around. I still have him.

I'm not completely alone.

Once we get to my class, Kenny promises to find me at lunch and then heads off on his own way.

I take a deep breath.

I walk through the door.

I'm still pretty early, so not too many other people are there yet. I recognize all of them. None acknowledge me any further than a quick glance.

I pick a seat in the very back corner, as far away from everyone else as possible.

Just as it seems like most of the class is there, and I let myself relax a little, I hear a familiar voice, a familiar laugh. A tall, raven-haired boy walks through the door, talking to his two friends. My whole body immediately tenses, and I pray to Moses for him to please not turn around, please don't see me.

But one of his friends – Clyde Donovan – has already spotted me. He's talking in a low voice, gesturing at me with his chin.

Cold, deep blue eyes connect with mine.

I want to hide under my desk. I want to shrivel up and die. But I can't move, can't breathe, can't even look away.

Stan Marsh is staring at me with more hate in his eyes than I ever thought possible.

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A/N: Please review and I will love you forever!! :D


	3. Burned Down Every Bridge

**_Nothing Seemed To Turn Out Right  
_**_A South Park Fanfiction by DizzyAlice_

_Chapter Three: Burned Down Every Bridge_

A/N: Have some Bunny even though it is a ridiculously minor pairing in this fic and will most likely only appear in this chapter and nowhere else at all ever. -w-  
Enjoy and please review ^_^

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_You said the hole in your head has gotten bigger than the hole that's in your chest, and you're stuck between the past and present tense. You said you've been waging a war against the loneliest of nights. And you've been hoping this year would be better than the last. It's not that big a surprise that you're feeling more dead than alive. Here are my apologies to the person I used to be, before I burned down every bridge and every inch of everything I used to know.  
_--_The Brightest Bulb Has Burned Out_ by Less Than Jake

* * *

History felt like the longest class in the world. After the initial staring was over, Stan went back to pretending like I didn't exist. I'm just glad he didn't try to confront me.

I wish there was something I could do to fix things with him. I fucked up really bad. I realize that. I tried to apologize. It's not my fault he won't accept it.

At lunch with Kenny, I tell him all about my brief encounter with Stan. He frowns.

"Sorry I wasn't there," he says.

"It's okay. It's not like he tried to talk to me or anything."

"But still. It has to be hard. You guys were, like, attached at the hip."

I shrug sadly. "I guess there's some things not even the best of friendships can overcome." We both contemplate this for a minute. I smile a bit. "Besides, now I have you. If you think about it, if all this shit hadn't happened last year we probably would never have become as close as we are now."

It's true, though. Kenny and I didn't even used to be all that good of friends. I used to have Stan, and he was all I ever needed. But ever since Stan and I got in that fight, I had no one left. Except for Kenny. Kenny, who visited me every single day when I wasn't able to leave my house; Kenny, who doesn't get mad at me for waking him up at 3 in the morning while I'm having one of my panic attacks; Kenny, who will spend hours laying in the grass in my backyard with me, talking about nothing and everything at the same time.

Kenny has, essentially, become my life. As fucked up as I am right now, I would be so much worse off without him.

Of course, Kenny has his own set of problems to deal with, without mine loaded on there too. Sometimes he becomes reluctant telling me about them because he doesn't want to worry me, but truthfully, I like hearing about them. It gets my mind off my own issues for a little while.

I'm drawn from my thoughts by Butters, who bounds over to our table like living, brightly clad joy. He grins at me – the first person other than Kenny to do so all day – and says, "Howdy, Kyle. I didn't know you were comin' back to school this year. How're ya feelin'?"

I smile tentatively. "Still not great. But definitely better. Thanks, Butters."

"Glad ta hear it." He turns to Kenny, his hand fluttering to rest lightly on Kenny's arm. There's something between them, something in the way Butters is looking at Kenny, is swooning slightly towards him, that leads me to believe I'm not getting the whole story. "Kenny, aren't 'cha gonna sit with us today?" he asks, his voice softer – still happy, just less spastic. "You can come too, if you want," he adds to me.

Kenny looks at me. "You want to?" he asks, and I know he's asking for both of us. If I say no, he'll stay with me.

"Sure," I say. Might as well, I figure. It wouldn't exactly hurt to try talking to people other than Kenny.

Kenny turns back to Butters with a smile and says, "We'll be there in a minute."

Butters grins wider than I even thought possible. He leans down and quickly presses his lips to Kenny's before running away.

My eyebrow is raised in Kenny's direction. "Since when are you and Butters–"

He cuts me off with a laugh. "We're not."

"Then why…?"

"It's kind of complicated. He was really fucking persistent. Didn't know he had it in 'im. And you know how I am. I gave in, just once, no strings attached, yeah? But now he kind of… _thinks_ we're dating or whatever, despite all the evidence I've provided otherwise. But whatever. I don't have the heart to tell him I don't want to continue our spontaneous make-out sessions – that'd be a lie anyways, I rather enjoy those – because it'd just crush him. For now, at least, it works."

"That's… what do you mean, 'evidence'?"

He shrugs one shoulder. "I've made out with other people right in front of him, and he never said anything. I kind of don't think he cares, as long as I'm still willing to kiss him, too. And I don't see why I wouldn't be – kid's fucking skilled." He grins.

How do I put this lightly… Kenny likes sex. A lot. Sex and anything related to it. And he's not about to limit himself by only going with girls, oh no – he likes guys just as much, if not more so. I think he feels a strong sense of accomplishment if he can get a guy who was previously convinced he was 100% straight to make out with him. Bring Kenny to a party and get him a little tipsy, he'll pretty much do whatever with anyone that's willing.

That being said, I don't think Kenny is capable of being in an actual relationship. This thing with Butters is a perfect example. I know Kenny, and I can tell he doesn't just like him for all the physical stuff like he's trying to lead me to believe. But even still, he gets bored being with one person and only one person. He likes variety, he likes variation. I'm also just not sure if he is emotionally able to deeply care for another person the way you're supposed to in a relationship.

Maybe someday he'll get his act together. But for now, he's just…

Kenny.

When we get to the table Butters and his friends are sitting at, they all smile at us before continuing their conversations. There are two empty seats waiting for us. Kenny takes the one next to Butters.

I look around the table. Aside from Butters, I've never really talked to any of them. They don't really seem like the type of people Kenny would hang out with, but with both Stan and I out of school for so long last year, I guess he had to find _somewhere_ to sit.

I turn back to Kenny, watching the way he and Butters are quietly talking, their faces so close together. I notice Kenny's hand, where it's lightly stroking Butters' knee. Kenny says something to cause Butters to look down, embarrassed, and Kenny uses his free hand to gently brush Butters' hair out of his face.

I feel a sudden, hot stab of jealousy that Kenny is paying so much attention to Butters. It's not like I feel like Kenny can only pay attention to me and no one else, or anything. He's free to talk to whoever he wants. I just haven't been around Kenny when it was just us in a long time. Sharing him feels kind of weird.

Hoping to avoid attracting anyone's – namely Kenny's – attention, I quietly get up and leave. I just feel so out-of-place. I don't belong there. I don't belong anywhere in this school.

Sometimes I just need to be alone for a little while. Being around so many other people all day is starting to stress me out, like, to the point that I feel like I want to start ripping out my hair. Not that it would do a whole lot of good seeing as it's all short now, anyways, but it's more of an uncontrollable urge.

I know I should go back to the cafeteria and talk to Kenny and let him help me, but I really don't want to. Instead I wind up wandering the mostly empty hallways for the rest of lunch. I really don't want to go to my last two classes, but I know if I skip, especially on the first day, I'm as good as dead.

Right now all I want is to go home and hide under my blankets and sleep for the rest of forever.

At the end of the day, I kind of don't want to see Kenny, because I know he'll ask why I disappeared at lunch, and I don't really have a good answer for that. I end up just telling him the truth – I wanted to be alone for a bit.

"Is everything okay?" he asks me.

"Yeah," I say with a forced smile. "It's fine."

"Okay." He still looks hesitant. But he can't say anything else, because we get interrupted as two girls come up to us – Lola and Mandy. They're those bubblehead girls with the short skirts and the sleek hair, the kind Stan likes.

I hate myself for knowing this.

"Hi, Kenny," they giggle, not so much as glancing at me.

"Ladies," Kenny greets, his voice smooth as he looks them up and down. They bat their lashes and smile blankly at him. It's disgusting.

Suddenly I wonder if he's ever slept with either of them. I quickly push that thought out of my mind.

"Kenny," Lola says. "You're coming to my party on Friday, right?"

"I don't know," he says slowly.

"No, you _have_ to," she pouts. "_Everyone_ will be there. Please? For me?" She's staring at him with these bedroom eyes, like all his clothes are invisible or something. Kenny doesn't seem to notice, though. He still looks pretty hesitant.

He glances at me, then back to her. I'm not sure, but I think I see a hint of discomfort in his eyes. "I'll only come if I can bring Kyle," he tells her decisively.

My eyes bug. "What?" I squeak.

Lola glances at me and makes a face. "Why? He doesn't even want to go."

"I don't care," Kenny says. "I'll only go if he can go, too."

She rolls her eyes and sighs. "Fine. He can come, too. But he better not do anything weird." I wince slightly. She glares pointedly at me, and then her and Mandy flounce off.

"Kenny, why'd you do that?" I demand as soon as they're gone. "She's right, I don't want to go."

"Aw, c'mon. It'll be fun. Besides, you need to get out more. And what better way to get back in the swing of things than going to a raging high school party with booze, girls, and best of all, no parental supervision?"

"Girls are stupid sluts," I decide. I had forgotten how whorish all the girls in our school were. Most guys probably found their skimpy outfits hot. They made me want to vomit.

"Fine, then. I'm sure there'll be plenty of guys who have never frenched a Jew there, too."

Now he's goading me.

"Shut up, I am not gay."

"Sure, kid. Keep telling yourself that." He grins and pats me on the head. It makes me want to punch him.

We've had this conversation so many times. It never ends well. He usually only uses it to tease me, but I think that, at the same time, he really believes it. It drives me crazy because no matter how hard I try to convince him otherwise, he won't listen.

It's not that I particularly _like_ girls. Like I said, most girls are stupid sluts. At least, the ones I know are. But it's also not like I get off on the idea of making out with a dude. Honestly, it kind of creeps me out. If anything, I'd say I'm asexual.

But certainly not gay.

"One of these days," Kenny says, "one of these days you're gonna end up in a situation where you fool around with a guy and then you'll know the truth. You'll know just how gay you really are."

"Um, yeah, no."

"It will happen. And when it does, I will be right there to say 'I told you so.'" He grins at me and I roll my eyes.

"And I'll be right there to prove you wrong."

* * *

A/N: I just want to say please remember who's point of view this story is in, and the possible biases in the story it might cause. Kyle thinks most girls are stupid sluts. Therefore, a lot of the girls in this story are going to be portrayed as stupid sluts. However, if it was Kenny telling the story, or even Stan, the girls would probably seem like completely different people.  
Not that there are going to be a whole lot of girls in this, anyways. Just thought I'd point that out -w-  
Oh, Kyle, you're cute when you're in denial :3  
Also there were a couple clues in this chapter about what happened between Kyle and Stan, hopefully you caught 'em =)  
Please review~ :D


	4. We Ain't Got Nothing But Our Lives to

**_Nothing Seemed To Turn Out Right  
_**_A South Park Fanfiction by DizzyAlice_

_Chapter Four: We Ain't Got Nothing But Our Lives to Lose_

A/N: Hm, haven't written any fics in a while. I put them on hiatus so I could focus on original writing for a while. Then I realized I had nothing to write about. Yeah, I fail at life, what of it. So I'm back to fic-writing for now at least.  
I think that this is a sort of important chapter, because even though there's no Kenny or anything like that in it, it really shows how Kyle's issues affected the other people in his life - mainly, his family.  
Enjoy and please review!

* * *

_Sometimes I lie. Sometimes I'm alright. The sun's just rising up from the dark sky. I slept through the night. It's been such a long time. It's been such a long, long time. I speak the truth. The purest eyes are blue. We ain't got nothing but our lives to lose. Your mama knew your daddy's love was true when he was trying on his wedding suit. I just wanna be coming over, and if you don't believe me when I say, who is gonna love you when it's over, when you're stumbling drunk and you're driving me away?  
_-_Wedding Suit_ by Quiet Life

* * *

Kenny drops me off at home, promising to call me later to make sure everything's okay. I don't want to leave him, and I especially don't want to go back inside, but there's no avoiding it.

As awful of an experience school still is, it was nice to get out of the house after six months of being trapped there. Maybe going to that party won't be such a bad idea – I'll get to escape for a little while, if nothing else.

I drop my bag inside the front door and call, "Ma, I'm home!" She comes bustling out of the kitchen in a flurry of motion.

"Oh, Kyle, buhbie, how are you doing? How was school? Take your shoes off, you'll get mud all over the floor. Come on, I'll get you a little snack. I was talking to Linda earlier, she told me the funniest story…"

My mother shepherds me into the kitchen and I plop into a chair. She keeps talking as she moves about, washing some fruit and setting it in front of me, filling up a glass of water and putting it and my pills next to the fruit. I absently pop the pills in my mouth and chase them with a gulp of water. I've already tuned out my mother, who is still blabbering on about nothing.

I hate the way she looks at me now – or rather, the way she doesn't look at me. It's an extremely rare occurance for her to look me in the eyes as of late. And whenever she does, there's this sort of pity there, like I'm so fragile I might break at a single word. Which might've been true a few months ago, but I'm better now.

She's always had a very strong personality, but now – now she never _shuts up_. It's like she's afraid if she's quiet for even a second the silence will drive us all mad.

Well, I'm already there, and I think the rest of my family is well on their way.

"Where are dad and Ike?" I interrupt her tangent.

"Hm? Oh, Ike's not back from school yet."

"And dad?"

"Oh, he's… working late."

"Oh."

Another change in the Broflovski family dynamic. Dad's been working late a lot more now – sometimes straight through dinner. He says work's just been hectic recently, but mom and I know he just wants out of the house.

Just then Ike comes clattering into the house with all the excitement of a kid still young enough to enjoy the first day of school. He's oblivious to the tension between me and mom, whish is perfectly fine by me, because if he doesn't acknowledge it, maybe it'll go away.

Sometimes I think he's the only sane one left in this house.

Ike is a smart kid. He knows there's something wrong with me, and with our family. But he's still, well, a kid. So he doesn't dwell on it much. He doesn't let all this shit affect him like mom and dad do. Sometimes it's really nice having him around, because I can just pretend everything's normal again.

Ike tells my mom and I every single detail of his day, from what he ate for lunch to the fistfight two kids got in between second and third period. As I listen to him, I wish I could be changed back into when I was his age, when life was simple and everything revolved around me and my friends.

Back when I still had friends, that is.

Ike is still going on about his daily escapades while my mom pretends to be

interested when I slip away from the table and up the stairs.

I decide to take refuge in the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I lean close to the mirror and examine the boy staring back at me.

His face is thin and pale, a ghost of stubble alerting him it's time to shave. His hair, chopped short, has grown out just enough to hint at his former curls. The skin under his eyes is bruised deep purple from lack of sleep. But it's the eyes themselves that really do him in. The once-lively greens have turned dead and haunted. They're now dark and… grey.

I frown at my reflection and turn away with a sigh. It's kind of amazing how just six months of mental stress can change a person's outward appearance so drastically.

I decide not to dwell on this, as it's only causing me anxiety and that's never a good thing. Instead, I go into my room and read until dinner's ready.

Dinner is stressful. We have leftovers, which no matter what anyone says are never as good the second time around. Dad isn't home yet. Mom and even Ike eat in silence. I push the food around on my plate for a few minutes, and then I get up and leave.

Once I'm settled back in my room with my book, my door slowly gets pushed open, and I glance up to see my little brother cautiously watching me from the hallway.

"Ike, what's up?"

He slinks into my room and perches on my bed, not looking at me. At last he says almost inaudibly, "Kyle?"

"Yeah?"

"If… if they're sending you back to school, does that mean you're better?"

I frown. "It means I'm getting there."

"Good. I don't want you to be sick anymore. It makes everyone sad. Which makes me sad."

I try to smile reassuringly at him. "Don't worry, kid. I'll be okay. Everything's going to work out."

"Good. I hope so. I don't like it when things are like this."

I grimace. "Trust me, I don't like it either."

After Ike leaves I get ready and go to bed. It's already fairly late, and I'm tired.

Too tired to sleep, apparently.

I stare up at the ceiling in silence for a while. I debate calling Kenny. I decide to let him sleep for once.

For some reason, what I said to Ike is ringing through my head. Like it was mocking me, almost. Every time I hear it in my mind it sounds more and more like a lie.

_Everything's going to work out._

* * *

A/N: I feel like too many people write Ike as having a personality way older and more mature than his canonical age. But if you think about it, he's a lot younger than Kyle. In fics like this, where the boys are still in high school, Ike would be pretty young still. Kyle's a senior in high school in this fic (don't know if I ever mentioned that but it actually will become somewhat important later) so Ike would still be in what, middle school? Seventh grade? I may not be doing my math right - I don't know exactly how old Ike is in the series so it's hard to calculate - but I think it's around there. That's still pretty young.  
Anyways. I actually wrote this chapter about a week ago and just never got around to typing it up. I mostly just wrote it then because I was in the mood to write something really slashy (aka the next chapter which is the party scene. Shit will go down, prepare yourselves). But now I'm kind of dealing with some personal stuff and anything that's even vaguely romantic or involves couples or kissing or anything is pretty much the last thing I want to write right now. So I don't know when I'll actually get to the next chapter.  
I'm going to try and update _Play Crack the Sky_ pretty soon, though. No promises. We'll see how that goes.  
Please review and I'll love you forever and ever and ever!


	5. Just Jealous Cause We're Young and In

**_Nothing Seemed To Turn Out Right  
_**_A South Park Fanfiction by DizzyAlice_

_Chapter Five: Just Jealous Cause We're Young and In Love_

A/N: Okay, I lied (which I seem to do often when it comes to writing). I am updating this chapter before _Play Crack the Sky_. Feel lucky c:  
Do I like, not have any readers left on this story? ._. It's not like there were very many of you guys to begin with, but only one person reviewed the last chapter, and even they didn't until like a couple days after it was posted... I mean, I know I hadn't updated in a while, but there are a bunch of authors I follow who update even way less frequently than that (I mean it was only a month and a half that's not that long) and they get way more reviews than me. I'm not trying to be selfish or a review-whore or anything, it's just... is my writing really that bad? ._.  
If you're out there, and if it's not too much to ask, please take two seconds to write me a quick little review. Like I've said in the past, it can even be a single word, a keyboard smash, anything, just please let me know you exist =/ I promise you will make me so, so happy.  
Anyways, enjoy this monster update. I think this is one of the longest chapters I've ever written. I actually considered breaking it up but I couldn't see how unless I made it three really short things. And I wanted to keep the whole party scene all together, really. So you get it all at once c: A lot of really important stuff happens in this chapter too, so it's exciting.  
It also marks the point in the story that I don't have planned out (like at all) so I kind of need to figure out what the hell I'm doing from here on out... ^^;  
Please review :3

* * *

_You and me were kings over the parkway tonight. And tonight will go on forever while we walk around this town like we own the streets, and stay awake through summer like we own the heat, singing "Everybody wake up. It's time to get down." I'm gonna stay eighteen forever so we can stay like this forever. And we'll never miss a party, 'cause we keep them going constantly, and we'll never have to listen to anyone about anything. Cause it's all been done, and it's all been said. We're the coolest kids and we take what we can get the hell out of this town. Find some conversation. The low fuel light's been on for days. It doesn't mean anything. I got another five hundred miles before we shut this engine down. You're just jealous cause we're young and in love.  
_-_Soco Amaretto Lime_ by Brand New

* * *

I can't decide what to wear. I feel like such a girl. Though it's not really my fault – it's not like I go out much. How am I supposed to know what is acceptable attire for a party like this?

I can hear Kenny in the driveway, honking the horn impatiently. Finally I throw on a pair of jeans, the first t-shirt my hands come into contact with, and my faded green army jacket. And then I run out the door.

I'm practically to freedom when my mom catches me. "Kyle," she calls. I wince and poke my head back inside. "Where are you going?"

"Sleeping over Kenny's, ma," I say. "I thought I told you about this?"

"No, I don't think you did…"

"Oh. Well, I meant to. Is that okay?"

This is the first time I've really asked to be out for anything social. She looks uncertain. I cross my fingers and hope she says yes.

"Well…" she says at last. "I guess it's all right. Be good, okay? Call if you need anything, or if you have an attack, or–"

"Ma," I interrupt with a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. I'll be fine."

She gives me a small smile in return. "I know. Have fun, buhbie."

"Thanks, mom. I'll see you tomorrow."

With that I slip out the door.

It's not like I lied to her about sleeping over Kenny's – after the party I most likely would end up sleeping there, because it's not like I was going to go home and let my mother see me _drunk_, god forbid. And it's not like I could tell her where I was really going. She almost didn't let me out for a simple sleepover at my best friend's house. If she knew I was going to a party that made up in alcohol for what it lacked in parental supervision, she'd just about have a conniption.

I slide into the passenger seat of Kenny's beat-up Honda. "What the hell took you so long?"

"My mom caught me going out and I had to convince her to let me. If anyone asks, I'm spending the night at your place."

He grins. "A likely story."

By this time we're already practically to Lola's house – one of the good things about small towns is everyone lives literally just around the corner.

"You nervous?" Kenny asks, glancing at me out of the corner of his eyes.

"A little," I admit, chewing on my lower lip.

He smiles, nice and gentle. "Don't be. It'll be fun. You need something like this."

"What, an opportunity to get wasted?"

He chuckles. "No, contact with the outside world. But if getting wasted is what it takes, go right ahead."

We drive on in silence until we reach Lola's house. There are already cars lined up and down the street. We manage to find a spot and Kenny parks the car, but makes no move to get out.

"Kyle," he says at last, still staring out the windshield rather than at me. "I wish I could be around all the time to take care of you and make sure nothing ever hurts you. But I _can't_. You have to be able to take care of yourself for the times when I'm not there, okay?"

I nod slightly. He gives a small, sad smile.

"You'll be okay, kid. You've been through hell these past few months, but underneath all that vulnerability you have now, I know you're still a fighter. That much has never changed. I can see it in your eyes."

I grin at him. "I'll be fine, Kenny." It's the second time I've said that tonight. I'm even starting to believe it myself.

He returns my smile, his happy expression familiar and calming. Purely Kenny. "Alright, then, let's go before those assholes drink all the booze."

As soon as we walk through the door we're greeted by a flurry of activity. There are people everywhere – I don't know how they even all fit in the house. It's still pretty early, but it's clear that many of them are already several drinks in. There's a rousing game of beer pong going on in the dining room, and what appears to be a Halo tournament on the big screen in the family room. Everyone looks happy.

We make our way to the kitchen, which ends up being a difficult task because people keep wanting to talk to Kenny. By the time we finally get there, there's a group of girls doing shots at the kitchen table.

"Kenny!" Lola shrieks, her sudden high pitch making my ears feel like they're bleeding. She runs over and gives Kenny a big hug. "I'm so glad you made it! Oh… hi, Kyle."

"Um, hi."

But apparently not even she can keep up too much hostility towards me when under the influence of that much alcohol. "You guys should do shots with us!" she squeals, pressing a shot glass into each of our hands, filling them from a large bottle and spilling about half of it.

Kenny grins at me and raises his glass. "To recovery," he says.

"To recovery," I repeat, and down the liquid in one gulp.

I have to force back a cough as the alcohol burns like liquid fire down my throat, making my eyes water. But I grin anyways. I'm determined to have fun tonight, and like Kenny said, if getting wasted is what it takes…

I hold my glass out to Lola and say, "Pour me another."

Four shots and two beers in, and the world seems like a much warmer place. Kenny's been swallowed into the chaos of the party, but I don't even care too much that we've been separated. I end up running into Butters and we somehow get into a game of beer pong with Jimmy Vulmer and Kevin Stoley, who are both surprisingly good. When we're done I end up getting kidnapped by Bebe, who shrieks and hugs me the second she sees me.

Honestly, what is it with girls and shrieking? I wouldn't be surprised if I woke up with ruptured eardrums tomorrow.

"Kyle! I didn't know you would be here!"

"Um… hi, Bebe. Long time no see."

"Oh my god, right? I mean, after what happened with Stan, a lot of people thought you wouldn't come back to school again. There were rumors that you moved away, or – or killed yourself." I wince, but she doesn't seem to notice. "But here you are, oh my god!"

"Bebe?" I ask, the alcohol removing the worry I'd normally have about hearing the answer to the question about to spill out of my mouth. "Does everyone hate me after what I did to Stan?"

"Oh god no. I mean, a lot of the football players are pissed, but no one _hates_ you. It was just surprising, is all. I mean, you always just seemed so… normal."

"And, what, now I'm some kind of _psycho_?" She shrugs sheepishly. "Depression and anxiety are not the same thing as insanity," I spit. "I'm getting help. I'm getting better."

"It's just, I don't think people really understand–"

"You're damn right they don't understand. None of you has any idea what I've been through the last year. _None_ of you."

Her eyes widen and she takes an involuntary step backwards at my angry tone. I sigh.

"Sorry, Bebe. It's just frustrating."

She nods sympathetically and takes my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I can't pretend to understand, but I can hope you'll get better. No one deserves that, Kyle."

I give her a small smile. "Thanks, Bebe." She kisses me lightly on the cheek and disappears into the crowd.

I look around the room, suddenly feeling trapped. I head into the backyard, where the smokers are hanging. The air isn't any easier to breathe filled with nicotine and pot, but at least it doesn't feel like the walls are closing in on me anymore. I slowly sink to sit in the grass, my legs tucked up to my chest. I close my eyes and take deep, calming breaths.

"Kyle," snaps a voice from behind me. I flinch. The voice is a familiar one, one that used to cause me so much joy, but now only makes my heart race and my breathing quicken with panic.

I stand up and slowly turn around to face Stan.

His face is cold, unwelcoming. "Who the hell do you think you are, coming here?"

I recoil involuntarily. And then something snaps inside me. I can't be afraid anymore. It's time to fight back. To stand up to my nightmares.

"Lola _invited_ me," I spit, staring him down. I still know him well enough to catch the faint glimmer of shock in his eyes at my challenge, but he does a good job of masking it to everyone else. Everyone else being Craig and Clyde, who seem to have taken my and Kenny's places as his friends, and who are hovering in the background.

"You really think Lola wants you here?" he scoffs. "She doesn't. No one does."

"Kenny does," I tell him, an iciness entering my voice that hasn't been present there in a very long time, and has never been directed at him. "So does Butters. And Bebe."

"Butters is nice to everyone, that doesn't count. And Bebe is a dumb whore. And, well…" The eyebrow he raises at me seems to be full of implications. "It's no surprise _Kenny_ would want you here."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? Look, Stan, I'm sorry for what I did to you, okay? I'm so fucking sorry. It's not like this is the first time I've apologized, either. But what happened was not my fault. I didn't mean to push you like that. I didn't know what I was doing. So if you don't want to drop this grudge–"

"Apologies won't fix my fucking hand!" he roars. By this time a crowd has gathered, people spilling out from inside to watch the drama unfold. "Apologies won't let me play football again! I was supposed to get scouted, get scholarships… Now my parents might not even be able to afford to send me to college. And it's all your fault."

I open my mouth to protest, but he's not done yet.

"I was in the hospital for a month, Kyle. And you never even visited."

I can't even speak for a minute or so, I'm so furious at him. "How dare you," I manage at last, my voice sounding cold and terrifying even to my own ears. "I asked – _begged_ – to see you every day. Every single day. Do you know where I was that whole time you were in the hospital, and then a couple weeks? Do you, Stan?"

He isn't making an effort to mask his real emotions with anger anymore. He just looks puzzled.

"I was in rehab. In the fucking _psyche ward_. Being treated for anorexia, severe anxiety, and – oh, yeah – a failed suicide attempt. Because I had so deeply lost it at that point and the thought of having hurt the person I cared about most in my life – yes, you – was too much for me to bear. So I tried to overdose on sleeping pills because all I wanted was for it to be _over_."

I have to stop talking then, because my throat is choked with tears. They stream in hot trails down my cheeks.

Just then, Kenny appears beside me, my guardian angel in ripped jeans. "Hey," he says softly, gently touching my elbow. "Let's go home, yeah?"

I'm still staring at Stan, who's staring back at me in disbelief. I just nod. Kenny slips an arm around my waist and guides me away from Stan and the party.

"Are you okay?" he asks as he helps me into the car.

I shake my head no. He sighs, frowning as he takes his place behind the wheel.

"Can you drive?" I ask softly. "I mean, you were drinking a lot…"

"I certainly feel sober now," he mutters.

We spend the majority of the ride in silence, each staring out the windshield. Finally, just as we're crossing the train tracks, I turn to him. "I'm real sorry, Ken. I tried, I really did. But I couldn't do it. In the end, you still had to come rescue me."

He sighs, glancing at me out of the corner of his eyes. "Don't worry about it, kid. You were doing great until Stan had to go and ruin it."

He pulls the car into his driveway, leading the way up to his room.

As soon as we get to his room I suddenly feel terribly dizzy and slightly nauseous. I squeeze my eyes shut and hold onto the door frame until the floor stops tilting.

"You okay, Kyle?" Kenny asks. I cautiously open my eyes. He's staring at me with a concerned expression.

"Yeah," I say. "Yeah. I just think all that alcohol is affecting me more than I expected it to."

He smirks. "Lightweight. Come on, let's get some sleep."

I nod. He tugs his shirt off over his head and flops down on his mattress on the floor, leaving space for me to lie down next to him.

Kenny usually wears fairly baggy clothes that hang loose on his frame, so I often forget how skinny he is. The knobby knees and twig-legs showing through the holes in his jeans are somewhat of a reminder, but they don't strike me as much as realizing I can just see the faint outlines of his ribs on his thin torso. In fact, the only person I've ever really seen skinnier than Kenny was me last year, when I wasn't eating.

That deeply terrifies me.

"Ken?" I say quietly, rolling over to face him.

"Yeah?"

I suddenly realize how close we are to each other. For some reason this makes my face grow warm.

"Thanks for taking me out tonight," I say with a small smile. "Despite everything, I did have fun. And you were right – I did need something like this."

He smiles back easily, pale blue eyes sparkling. "No problem, kid. I just wish I got to spend more time with you."

"Me too," I agree. "But it's okay that you didn't, I think, because it made me have to talk to more people, like Bebe, and–"

My words are suddenly cut off by his lips, pressed softly to mine. My brain is lost in a cloud of shock, but my body reacts of its own accord. My eyes slide shut, my lips gently move against his, my hand rises to rest against his jaw line. The kiss is slow and sweet, and then it's over. We part and stare at each other for a few seconds, and then he rolls over so I'm left looking at the back of his messy blonde hair.

"'Night, Kyle," he says.

"Good night, Kenny," I reply, and then I roll over onto my other side, too.

For the first time in what feels like forever, I fall asleep almost as soon as I close my eyes.

* * *

A/N: Ahhhh it's over! Phew. Surprisingly enough, I wrote this all in the span of two days xD I can get a lot done when I've got my mind set on it. And I had almost every detail of this chapter planned out before I even started writing this story at all. The only spontaneous things really were Bebe's appearance and Kyle's conversation with Kenny before the party. And the k-squared part at the end was supposed to be way more slashy (it was going to go very far beyond the realms of a good-night kiss) but I decided to save that for a later chapter, because it just makes more sense for what I'm planning xD And also due to personal reasons I just really have not been in the mindset to write anything like that as of late. But it'll happen, I assure you.  
Anyways, I hope you liked it, I worked really hard on this chapter, it's like my baby xD  
Please review and I'll love you forever and ever and ever~ :D


	6. The Last Day I'll Kiss the Sky

_**Nothing Seemed To Turn Out Right**_

_A South Park Fanfiction by DizzyAlice_

_Chapter Six: The Last Day I'll Kiss the Sky_

A/N: Oh hay gaiz :D Long time no see...  
No, seriously though, I AM SO SORRY. There are so many reasons why I haven't updated this thing since June, but I'm not going to bother listing them all... I had a really busy summer/start of the school year/horrid writer's block. But finally, the next installment!  
Please review~

* * *

_The first day of fall is the last day I'll kiss the sky. The cold air surprises my bones have been spoiled by the summer heat. The sun hides its face, and I'll hide mine too. Next year this time, I'll be there. I'll dream of the past, and wish that I was there. I am burning the letters of days gone by. I'm sorry, but I'm scared that my heart will regret all the things that I've done. Breathe in all the ashes of my mistakes. Gently collapse so no one will notice you're falling too short of your breath. I've wasted more time dreaming than living. So cherish these days, enjoy every breath like it will be the last of your life. And never look back, because you won't forget why you cried.  
_-_Come Winter _by Daphne Loves Derby

* * *

I wake up the next morning to a splitting headache and an empty bed. Once I'm done groaning over the former of these realizations, I start to wonder where the hell Kenny got off to. I sit up slowly, so as to not further injure my poor throbbing brain, and look around Kenny's bedroom in the thin strips of light sneaking through the blinds.

Kenny's room hasn't changed much since we were younger. He still has the same posters on his walls, the same mess covering the floor. The only real difference is the bed. He outgrew his smaller bed long ago, and I'm not sure if his parents couldn't afford a new box spring, or if they just didn't want to buy one, but either way, all Kenny has now is a mattress.

I asked him once if he minded sleeping on the floor. He just shrugged.

Kenny comes in, his hair still dripping wet from the shower, carrying a bottle of aspirin and a glass of water. He smirks when he sees me staring up at him with bleary eyes.

"I had a feeling that you'd need this," he says, holding out the drugs. His voice sounds a little strained. I figure it's probably still messed up from last night.

"Thanks, dude," I reply. My voice cracks. Kenny laughs. "Shut up," I grumble.

"I should probably get you home, it's getting kind of late. And to be honest, I really _do _fear the wrath of Sheila Broflovski," he tells me.

"What time is it?"

"Almost one."

"Shit, I slept that late? She's gonna kill me." I jump up and start gathering my things, which doesn't take terribly long, seeing as I only have about two things to gather. I squeeze my eyes shut to fend off the vertigo.

"I think we've found the cure for your insomnia," Kenny jokes.

"Yeah, with these side effects? No thanks."

"Come on, let's get going."

The short car ride back to my house is filled with nothing but an uncomfortable silence. Kenny and I don't often have awkward silences. Actually, we never have awkward silences.

I wonder if it has something to do with the whole him-kissing-me thing last night. I wonder if he remembers.

The way he keeps glancing at me out of the corners of his eyes and the expression on his face tells me it does, and he does.

Should I be making a bigger deal out of this? I feel like I should be freaking the fuck out right now. Honestly, I don't know why I'm _not_ freaking the fuck out right now. Normally I would be.

He pulls into my driveway. I put my hand on the door handle, but I hesitate in opening it. My brain scrambles to come up with the right words.

"I'll call you later, yeah?" he asks, and his question has a hint of uncertainty, like he's afraid I'm going to tell him I don't want him to.

I smile. "Of course," I say.

He gives a tentative smile back. "Okay. See ya, kid."

"Bye, Ken." I slam the car door behind me.

Surprisingly, my mom doesn't say anything about the time when I go inside. She looks up from the coupons she's clipping and asks, "Did you have a good time?"

"Yeah, ma," I say. "I did."

Because despite everything, it really was sort of a fun night.

She smiles. "That's nice, buhbie. Do you want any lunch?"

"Not right now. Maybe in a while." Because despite everything, I still feel kind of queasy.

"Alright." I wait a second to see if she has anything else to say. She goes back to her coupons. I head upstairs.

Ike is sitting cross-legged on my bed, reading a book. He puts it down when I come in.

"What're you doing in here, twerp?" I ask, even though I don't really care.

"Waiting for you to come home."

"Why?"

"You didn't really sleep over Kenny's house last night, did you?"

"Of course I did."

"But you weren't there for the whole time, like you told mom, were you?"

"Hey, I never told her that."

"It was heavily implied."

God, for an eleven-year-old, he's ridiculously perceptive. "What's up with the interrogation?"

"I just wanna know what you were doing, okay? I won't tell mom, I promise."

I roll my eyes. "Maybe I'll tell you when you're older."

"I'm almost twelve," he says, a hint of a whine creeping into his voice, which makes me laugh.

"Right. And I'm almost eighteen. Come talk to me when you're in high school."

"Fine," he grumbles, and walks out of my room in a huff.

There isn't much for me to do on lazy Saturdays. Seeing as we've only been in school for a week, I don't have too much homework to keep myself busy with. I read for a while. I consider calling Kenny but then I remember I just saw him, and also that he might be feeling weird about what happened last night and not want to talk, so I decide against it.

I'm just so restless. I can't stand it. I can't hold my attention on anything for more than an hour. I can't sit still. I have to get out of this house. I've been stuck here for too many months. And, sure, I didn't mind it before. I didn't want to leave. But now that I'm finally readjusting to the outside world, I can't stand it here.

I grab my jacket and go outside. I'm not entirely sure where I'm headed, but wherever it is has to be better than here.

Even though it's only early September, the air already smells like snow. I know that the perpetual winter of Colorado will be upon us soon. Just the way it's always been. Even though everything else has changed so much, the winter will always stay the same.

Without me even realizing it, my feet automatically travel along a familiar route – down Bonanza, around the corner, past Butters's house and the basketball court. I stop at the end of Stan's driveway, staring up at the house that was once a second home to me. The front yard where we built snowmen and had full-blown snowball wars, the part of the roof we could clime out his window onto to stargaze on clear summer nights, the steps where we'd sit and drink cocoa when the snow finally became rain in the late spring.

Stan's truck is in the driveway, and I can see signs of movement in his window, so he must be home. I imagine what it would be like to just walk through the front door, up the stairs, second door on the left. Stan is probably pretending to be doing something productive, but is actually most likely on the internet, or maybe even practicing his guitar. He hardly ever plays his guitar in front of people. It always made me feel special watching him gently pluck the strings, sometimes quietly singing along. He never believed me when I told him how good he was.

But if I did do all that, just like I used to, I'd just end up disappointed. I'm not entirely sure what he'd do, but it certainly wouldn't be a good reaction.

I shove my hands into my jacket pockets and continue walking. It's all I can do, really – just keep moving forward, no matter how much it hurts.

* * *

A/N: Yay character development :D  
There will be more slash soon I promise  
Please review, thank you so much for reading, I love you all, kthxbai :3


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